being
overwhelmed.

"It is very warm," he went on in a faint, strained voice, wiping the
beaded drops from his broad brow.

"Come over here," pleaded Sylvie: "you will be cooler. The wind is
south, and doesn't blow in those windows. You are sure you feel quite
well?" scanning him anxiously. "You look pale."

"It was only momentary." He wondered now what had so moved him. "I am
like good old John Bunyan's Pilgrim,"--laughing faintly,--"'tumbled up
and down' with these excitements. I wish they were at an end. We were
going on so nicely when that McPherson came! Don't let us think any more
about it," throwing up his head with a nervous shake. "Sylvie, I wish
you would sing something."

"With pleasure. Fred and I have been practising duets. When Yerbury is
laid in ashes we can go off as strolling minstrels;" and she laughed
gayly, as she went to the piano. That exquisite tact in changing a mood
or scene was a familiar characteristic of Sylvie Barry.

As the sound of their blending voices floated out on the summer night
air, there leaped up in Darcy's soul a subtle, forceful, vivifying
flame, touching to a white heat the farthest pulse of his being.
Resistance appeared impossible: he did not even dream what manner of
influence this might be. Long afterward--it seemed ages to him--as their
heads were bent together over the pages of the music, he raised his
eyes, and let them wander slowly toward Irene Lawrence.

Was there something quite new in the face,--a sort of strange,
wondering, troubled expression, as if some unseen, almost unknown, depth
had been stirred?

He did not need to ask the question now. Wild as it was, he loved that
statue over yonder, and it seemed to him that his passion in its
enduring vitality must awaken her soul to kindred life! An exultant
strength and determination rose within him. What might have abashed
another man, filled him with a deathless courage, as high as it was
pure.

He thanked Sylvie and Fred for the song, but resisted their entreaties
to remain. When he said good-night, he went over to Miss Lawrence, and
took her hand. It was cold and passive, and her eyes fell beneath his.

CHAPTER XXVI.

THE excitement ran very high not only in Yerbury, but all over the
country. Strikes seemed the order of the day again, and for what reason,
was not clearly made manifest, unless labor felt that it had capital a
little by the throat, in that its services were again somewhat in
dem